On the Nature of Lady Justice
by Worryingly Innocent
Summary: Mary Margaret's case comes to trial. The verdict is not what Emma and Gold want to hear. As they drown their sorrows, however, they learn that justice always prevails, although not necessarily in the way they expect. Emma & Gold friendship, eventual Rumbelle. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **Mary Margaret's case comes to trial. The verdict is not what Emma and Gold want to hear. As they drown their sorrows, however, they learn that justice always prevails, although not necessarily in the way they expect. Emma & Gold friendship, eventual Rumbelle.

**Disclaimer: **Alas, I don't own OUAT. I just own an unhealthy number of ideas.

**Note:** This takes place after S1Ep16 'Heart of Darkness', going AU from there, and therefore conveniently ignores the fact that Gold was complicit in (or at least knew about) Kathryn's kidnap.

Strong language throughout.

* * *

**On The Nature of Lady Justice**

"_Let there be justice though the world perish" – Emperor Ferdinand I _

**Part One**

"_We find the defendant guilty."_

Emma plays the words on a loop in her head as she stares at the now-empty jury box. She is the only person in the courtroom, for which she is thankful since she's crying her eyes out. She managed to stay strong for her friend as they took her back down to cells to wait for the van to take her to county; she managed to stay strong whilst she saw Regina's wolfish, triumphant smile as the sentence was handed down. But now, she's alone, and she has to crumple into her woe before it consumes her totally. It's all over, and they have failed – Emma, Mary Margaret, Mr Gold. They have lost, and Regina has won.

Emma draws her knees up to her chest and rests her chin on them. She has absolutely no desire to go home to the empty flat, knowing that it won't ever be fully occupied again. A small part of her knows that she'll have to speak to someone about the lease.

"Miss Swan?"

Emma closes her eyes, because the voice belongs to the last person in Storybrooke she wants to see. Well, apart from the mayor, of course. She doesn't turn when she hears Gold's uneven step coming down the room towards her. She's suddenly angry; how can he be so calm after everything?

"What are you doing here?" she snaps.

"Sheriff, the courthouse is closing. Miss Blanchard has gone. If you stay in here any longer you'll be locked in overnight. Not to put too fine a point on it, I was worried about you."

"Well, you can fuck off and worry some place else!" Emma snarls, whipping round to face him at last. She's a little taken aback by his appearance – she's no idea how old Gold is but he seems to have visibly aged since lunch time, and he looks as defeated as she feels – but she's too angry to care. "This is all your fault, you bastard! You were supposed to stop this! You were supposed to defend her! She trusted you and you failed her! _I _trusted you! I thought you could win against Regina!"

"So did I."

"You've done it before, couldn't you do it again?"

"I did my best, Miss Swan."

"Well it wasn't fucking good enough!" Emma screams. "I was prepared for you to do anything to get this sorted out, to overlook anything you might do to bring Regina to justice and you did nothing! You let her win!"

Gold says nothing in reply, instead he sits down beside her on the bench with a sigh.

"I refute that I 'let' her win," he says eventually. "But it doesn't matter, the end-result is the same. She won, we lost."

"You could've bought off the jury!"

"Emma…"

"They're more scared of you than of Regina! I'm living proof of that!"

"Emma…"

"Why didn't you…"

"Emma!"

Emma tails off, completely lost for words. She can count the number of times she's heard Gold call her by her first name on one hand.

"Yes, I'll admit, this is a battle I had expected to win by other methods that spectacularly backfired in my face. But at the end of the day I can't work magic." He sighs and hands Emma his pocket square to wipe her nose on. "I'm running out of handkerchiefs. Miss Blanchard's had four this week."

He stands and looks down at Emma pointedly.

"You need a drink," he says simply. "We both do."

Emma looks at him, hoping that despite her red nose and eyes she can express her incredulity, but then she mentally shrugs. Since Regina seems determined to make her existence a living hell, she may as well drink with the devil.

She stands and pushes past him in into the aisle.

"Ok. But you're buying."

X

The diner falls silent as they enter. It's rare enough to see Gold in there, but Gold and Emma together in a however temporary truce is unheard of. Emma orders a double vodka, neat. If Gold is buying he can damn well buy, and she intends to get a lot drunker than this. Gold doesn't bat an eyelid and pours his Scotch into a mug of tea.

They drink in silence, or rather, Emma drinks whilst Gold stirs his tea, head planted in one hand, staring into the middle distance intently.

"How much of the trial did you see?" he asks presently, finally fishing the teabag out of the mug and dumping it in the empty tumbler.

"Enough," Emma mutters. "Enough to know you didn't do your bloody job properly."

"Hmm." Gold takes a sip of the brew, still lost in thought.

"Still should have bought the jury," Emma mutters darkly.

"Well, I was arrogant enough to think that I wouldn't need to be so unsubtle."

He's got a point. When your landlord's the defence counsel, it's not exactly conducive to finding his client guilty.

"Huh." The thought of landlords brings her full circle. "I suppose you'll be kicking me out of the apartment then."

Gold laughs, a short, hollow bark with no humour behind it. "I've better things to do. Lodging Miss Blanchard's appeal for one."

"You'll still work for her?" Emma has to order another shot to get over the shock.

"I like to keep an eye on my investments," Gold says cryptically. Emma doesn't like his inference. He's taken Mary Margaret's case pro bono, but God only knows what he'll want in return. She shakes her head.

"What grounds do we have for appeal?" she asks sadly.

"Oh, believe me, I'll think of something."

Emma is getting the distinct impression that Gold knows more than he's letting on, and she tells him as such.

"Sheriff, I am merely a believer in fate. I'm just waiting to see what she throws up this time."

"What do you mean?"

Gold smiles, the leer that turns up one corner of his mouth that Emma has come to mean 'don't mess with what you don't understand, Miss Swan'. She frowns in return.

"You should pay more attention to your son, Sheriff."

"Henry?" Emma raises her eyebrows. "You believe Henry's theory?"

"Well, his overarching theory is a bit far-fetched, but his observations are accurate enough." Gold looks at her pointedly. "Can you name anyone who's successfully left town since you arrived?"

Emma can't. Gold smirks again and drains his laced tea.

"Whatever makes you think then, Sheriff, that Miss Blanchard will be the one to break the mould?"

"You're basing your entire plan off the theory of a ten-year-old," Emma says bluntly. She loves Henry, honest to goodness, but he's just a kid…

The worn look has returned to Gold's face. "No, I'm just praying that the ten-year-old's theory holds up, for everyone's sake."

They fall silent again. Emma finishes her second glass and thinks about ordering another.

"Ok, so if, for some unfathomable reason, Henry's theory that no-one can leave town is true and Mary Margaret can't leave… Maybe there's a tree across the road or something… We've still got the problem of Kathryn, who is still dead, with no clues as to who killed her."

"Hmm." Gold doesn't look particularly hopeful. "Yes, that is a problem."

Emma sighs. "What does Regina have against Mary Margaret anyway? To the extent where she would frame her for murder?"

Gold's face goes distant and closed for a moment.

"No idea," he says, his voice matter-of-fact. It's the most barefaced lie that Emma's ever heard, but she knows that with Gold, the more you push, the less you get, so she leaves it for the moment and allows them to lapse into silence. Grimly she imagines Mary Margaret's progress away from the town, until she hears the diner door open and, in the same moment, all hell break loose.

As Emma turns, she sees the cause of the uproar.

Kathryn Nolan is standing in the doorway – dishevelled, disorientated and weak at the knees, but undoubtedly alive. Granny's the first to react, fussing over her and seeing if she's all right.

In that moment, Emma can only think of Mary Margaret, and her blood runs cold, sobering her instantly. She's off her barstool in an instant, but she's prevented from moving away by a firm grip on her shoulder.

"You have four shots of vodka inside you, Sheriff," says Gold. "I wouldn't plan on racing after Miss Blanchard if I were you."

As hellish as it is to admit, he's right, and Emma looks around desperately for help before settling on Ruby behind the bar, her deputy for all of a day and a half.

Ruby seems to know exactly what Emma's asking without her having to speak, and although she seems nervous at the prospect of more adventures in law enforcement – understandable given what happened the first time – she nods her acquiescence and takes off her apron.

Emma takes charge and pushes through the people crowding around Kathryn. She reassures the terrified woman that everything's going to be all right, and no matter what happened, she's safe now; they'll take her to the hospital and she'll be fine.

And although Emma is obviously concerned for Kathryn's welfare and wants to know just what has happened over the past two weeks, she is also incredibly concerned for Mary Margaret.

So when, having got Kathryn signed into the hospital, her phone begins to ring and add to the chaos with impeccable timing, she can only expect the worst, especially when she hears the wail of the ambulance sirens start up.

Sure enough, her blood curdles even further when she picks up.

"Sheriff," says a male voice she doesn't recognise, a voice that is only just managing not to rise in panic, "there's been an accident."

In the background, Emma can hear someone screaming for help.

It's Mary Margaret.

X

Emma and Ruby arrive on the scene just after the ambulance does, and what Emma had surmised is confirmed. The prison transport van is on its side in the middle of the road. Mary Margaret is, Emma notes with a prayer of thanks upwards, comparatively unharmed. Her hands are bloody, but it doesn't seem to be her own, Emma can't see a visible source. She's wrapped in a shock blanket, shaking like a leaf. The driver – he must have been the one to call her – also looks to be all right.

The ambulance crew, Emma notes with a jolt, are behind the van. It didn't just jack-knife, it crashed into something – someone.

"She came out of nowhere," the driver says. "I tried to avoid her but I couldn't, and by then I was swerving and the van tipped over."

The blood on Mary Margaret's hands is from where she was performing CPR. She'd been yelling for the driver to come and help her.

Emma ventures round to see what's happening. The person hit is a young woman in hospital scrubs and a coat too big for her. Emma doesn't recognise her face. Where in God's name did she come from?

Then everything seems to happen according to procedure, passing in a blur. Storybrooke is small and its hospital has only one ambulance, so Emma phones for help from the nearest larger hospital.

The roads are impassable due to bad weather, or so she is informed, and help cannot arrive. Emma cannot help but be reminded of Henry's theory.

So they have to make do. Mary Margaret and the van driver are put in neck braces in case of whiplash, and Emma and Ruby take them in the squad car, following the ambulance carrying Jane Doe. It's only on the journey that Emma realises that she hasn't actually told Mary Margaret she's a free woman yet, and the schoolteacher's eyes widen at the news.

The rest of the journey passes in a tense, fraught silence broken only by sirens. Emma will need to get full statements from everyone, but that can wait until they have everyone safely in the hospital. The crash site is cordoned off, and she'll return in the morning when she's not got four drinks in her and it's not pitch black.

She can't help thinking though, that somehow, someway, this all comes back down to Regina.

X

Emma is not at all surprised to find Gold loitering around the ER waiting for them. He'd said something about a 'friendly chat' with the pathology department to find out who doctored the lab results that led everyone to believe that Kathryn was dead, and at the time, Emma had had better things to do than stop him – because in all honesty, she wanted the bastard who'd framed Mary Margaret scared out of his wits as well.

What she is surprised by is his reaction to Jane Doe. He can only have seen her for a few seconds as she was rushed past him on the way to the operating theatre, but the effect is instantaneous.

"Belle! Belle!"

Emma's only seen Gold show any kind of depth of emotion like this, only known him raise his voice, once. When he nearly beat Moe French's head in. Suddenly, the little pieces of the puzzle that is Storybrooke and its complex web of social politics begin to fit into place, but she doesn't have time to deal with that right now, not when the evening that she thought couldn't get any more chaotic has just done so.

The mayor has just walked in, ostensibly to find out what's going on, and Gold is looking at her like he could quite happily murder her with his bare hands. Emma feels much the same.

But although she's drunk four times as much as him, it is Gold, not Emma, who confronts Regina, and where his threats are usually soft and menacing, calculated and dangerous whispers, now he is shouting, impassioned.

As if there's only one thing in his life that matters and he's about to lose it. As if, and Emma can hardly believe it, he's afraid.

"You witch!" he roars, and Emma has to grab him for fear that he'll take a swing at the mayor. "You evil bitch! All this time! All these years! You said she was dead, you said she jumped; for fuck's sake, _I saw her bloody grave!_ And now look what you've done!"

In that moment, in Gold's eyes, it's clear that there are only two people in the room and everyone outside him and Regina either doesn't exist or is completely unimportant in the grander scheme of life.

Regina looks genuinely terrified.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she whispers, but the lie is too little, too late, and too obvious. Gold, calm again now, coming back to himself and realising that there are other people in the room and the entire emergency department has probably heard the exchange, shakes his head, detaches himself from Emma's grip.

"If she dies, Regina," he snarls, pointing ominously through the doors towards the operating theatre. "If she dies, I will flay you alive."

He limps away from them, round the corner into the waiting room. Emma and Regina are left looking at one another, and Emma can see that Regina is in chaos. All her carefully ordered plans, whatever they are, are coming down around her ears.

"I don't know what you have done, Madam Mayor," Emma begins, "but I get the feeling that you might be better off leaving."

"Are you accusing me of something, Sheriff?" Regina asks, grasping at what's left of her power

"Not yet, Madam Mayor."

Emma escorts the mayor to the door and watches her walk away. Whatever just happened, the chain of events that have led to their current situation, Regina is not the cause. She has no control over what is currently happening in the hospital, and Emma can tell that this is unnerving her. Her grip on the town is loosening, however slightly.

Emma knows that she'll be back, and she'll be trying to cover up her misdeeds. The sheriff doesn't intend leaving the hospital until she has the full story.

Kathryn is still sedated, and Mary Margaret and the van driver have told all they know and are still being checked over for injury. So there's only one person of interest left.

Gold is sitting with his head in his hands; Emma can see he's shaking. She tries to stop thinking of him as Gold and see him just as a man whose loved one - because that much is obvious - is at death's door in the operating theatre.

So she steels herself up, grabs a box of Kleenex from the nurse's station, and sits down beside him. She's got all night.

* * *

**To be continued**


	2. Chapter 2

**On the Nature of Lady Justice**

"_Justice is truth in action" – Benjamin Disraeli_

**Part Two**

It's a good half an hour before Gold takes his face out of his hands in favour of staring into the middle distance towards the emergency department and the door that leads to the operating theatre, probably longer. It's odd, thinks Emma, that such a comparatively short time ago their positions were reversed – she with her guard down and distraught and Gold providing an odd sort of companionship and comfort. She supposes, grudgingly, that they are more alike than she will ever admit to anyone, and that's the reason why Gold hasn't pushed her away like he seems to do instinctively to all others. Loners stick together. Neither is comfortable with vulnerability, but she let him see her at her lowest ebb, and now he is returning that subconscious trust.

But neither of them are good with emotion, really, not when it comes down to it, and this is an incredibly awkward moment. After a few more minutes of tense silence, Emma decides to make her presence felt and holds out the tissues. Gold takes a handful, turning away whilst he mops up, as if he's only just realised she's been there all this time whilst he broke down. She'd offer him back his pocket square although it's slightly less pristine than when he gave it to her.

"Do you want to tell me what the hell just happened?" she asks softly. Tact was never her strong point and she's never pretended it to be, but she likes to think that from what little she knows of Gold, he wouldn't appreciate pussy-footing. That is his domain, his game for a different time and place when he can control the rules. She's always been blunt with him and has no intention of changing that now, not when she needs honest answers from him in order to get anywhere.

He finally meets her eyes for the first time since she came into the waiting room. He looks exhausted, as if all the fight has gone from him. Something momentous has taken everything and he has no will left. Emma knows that whatever has happened, whoever the Jane Doe is and whatever she means to him, his world has turned on its axis completely.

"Do you want the short answer or the true answer, Sheriff?" he asks.

Inwardly, Emma rolls her eyes. She can already see him closing the mental doors and battening down the hatches against intrusion; as composure returns so does his familiar demeanour.

"The truth, preferably," she says. "Considering you did just threaten to kill the mayor. I need some kind of legitimate ammunition against her if we're going to stand any chance of winning this time." She needs him to understand that however grudgingly, however weirdly, she's on his side, fighting his corner like he has always done hers. Because when it comes down to it, he has always been on her side against Regina, even if it is for his own purposes in the end. Emma pauses, trying for the right way into what she wants to ask. "How do you know her? Jane Doe, I mean," she adds hastily. "Not the mayor."

"Belle." The name is barely above a whisper. "Her name is Belle."

His voice is measured and considered as he continues, as if he needs time to choose exactly the right words.

"She used to work for me. A long time ago. There was an argument and I terminated her employment. I never saw her again, until now. _Someone _informed me she had committed suicide."

It's not the whole story, by any manner or means, but Emma knows that what he has told her is the truth, and he won't tell her anything more if he doesn't want to. So she leaves it, privately amazed she got as much as she did. It's enough to be going on with, although she makes one blatantly obvious observation.

"She clearly means a lot to you."

More than merely an employee.

"She was a brief flicker of light in an ocean of darkness."

The words seem familiar, stirring a memory in the back of Emma's consciousness, but she's not sure where she's seen or heard them before. She pushes the thought to the back of her mind and focuses on the present. Regina, it appears, has a rap for kidnapping and death faking. Perhaps if she can get to the bottom of what happened to Belle, she can get to the bottom of what happened to Kathryn.

There's not much to go on, that's certain, but now that Emma has time in hand, she is beginning to see the clearer picture, the pieces are beginning to fall into place. Her only clue is the fact Belle was wearing typically hospital issue clothing under the massive coat. However she ended up on the main road, she evidently came from here.

Emma glances at Gold, who has resumed his previous gaze at the door. He won't be moving for a while, not until he receives news of Belle. Emma's torn between leaving him with his thoughts and staying to provide moral support, on the off chance he might divulge some more information that could lead her somewhere.

"I'm going to get coffee," she says, settling for a halfway house, because she needs to be properly sober if she's going to start investigating anyway. "Want one?"

Gold shakes his head, then nods and gives her a couple of coins for the vending machine without a word. Emma gets the drinks and returns to the waiting room, to do just that. Wait. Although she's not quite sure what for yet.

She has no idea how much time passes before something happens.

"Sheriff…" A nurse pokes his head round the waiting room door. "Mrs Nolan has just woken up. She wants to speak to you urgently."

X

Dazed and confused don't even begin to cover how Kathryn's feeling right now, but they're a pretty good place to start. As she waits for Emma to arrive, she takes in the drips and monitors that surround her and wonders for the umpteenth time how exactly she ended up in this position. At least she's safe now, which is perhaps more than can be said for the other girl, the girl who had called herself Belle. This is why she needs to speak to the Sheriff as a matter of urgency. She blinks, trying to clear away the fuzziness in her head that so many drugs have given her.

Emma comes round the corner into the room and Kathryn is immensely grateful to see her.

"Hey," says the Sheriff. "How are you feeling?"

"Not my best," Kathryn admits – Christ, when did her voice get so croaky? "But I'm not worried about me; Emma, there was another girl, you've got to find her, she's terrified…"

Emma's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean, another girl?" Her voice is wary, like she's reserving judgement or knows more than she's letting on.

"The place where I was taken… There was another girl… I think she got out at the same time as me but she ran off into the woods, something spooked her." Kathryn pauses. "She called herself Belle, but I've no idea if that's her name."

The Sheriff looks sombre.

"Dark hair past her shoulders, standard issue patient scrubs and a greatcoat?"

"Yes, have you found her? Is she all right?"

Emma gives a little nod. "We've found her. She's being taken care of."

Kathryn notices that Emma did not exactly answer her second question, but she doesn't push it. At least they found her. Emma sighs and indicates the chair.

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Kathryn replies. "Nice to have a friendly face."

"Are you up to telling me what happened?" Emma asks. "Not an official statement or anything, just so that I can try and get my head round what's been going on… You have to understand, we thought you were…"

"You thought I was dead," Kathryn finishes for her. "It's ok, I gathered. Was Mary Margaret really found guilty of murdering me?"

The sheriff nods. "Yes, just this afternoon."

Kathryn looks away. She doesn't like the school teacher, how can she after everything that has happened, but she would never wish that on her, never.

"I don't understand it," she murmurs. "I left a note saying I was headed to Boston; I told Regina. But then…"

A memory stirs, and Kathryn is not quite sure she trusts her friend any more.

"Yes, well…" Emma's lips are pressed together in a thin line. "We'll cross that particular bridge when we come to it." She leans forward and rests her arms on the edge of the bed. "Do you feel like talking?"

Kathryn ponders. It's been the worst two weeks of her life, but they were not unbearable, and she's very awake now. Originally she had just wanted to find out what happened to Belle, but she may as well start talking if she's compos mentis enough to remember, which she is, and if Emma is willing to listen, which she evidently is as well.

"Ok," she says eventually. "I can't remember much, I was out of it a lot of the time, but this is what I do remember."

Kathryn closes her eyes and thinks back as far as she can.

_The car spins out of control and ends up in the ditch at the side of the road with an almighty squeal of brakes and tires and the crunch of sudden impact with the bonnet. The airbag goes off and Kathryn blacks out…_

_The room she wakes up in is cool and smells slightly damp, and she's lying on something marginally less cold than the air around her. She's on her side, which is not how she normally sleeps, and it takes her a moment to realise she's in the recovery position. Her head is killing her. She opens her eyes and takes in her surroundings as much as she can without moving her neck. She's in a little room, a cell almost, lying on a narrow bed and staring at a dripping sink. High up on the wall above her are windows covered with safety mesh; she's in a basement somewhere._

"_Ah, you're awake. Are you all right?"_

_The voice is little more than a whisper, and it sounds as if its owner hasn't used it in a very long time, but it's still quite close to her ear. Kathryn turns her head minutely to see that she isn't alone in the room. A young woman is sitting on the bed beside her, knees drawn up to her chest with her head resting on them, watching over her. She smiles, tentatively, nervously, and Kathryn tries to return the gesture but has no idea if she's successful or not. _

"_Did she lock you up too?" the girl asks. _

"_She?" Kathryn manages. _

_The girl nods over Kathryn's shoulder, and the older woman turns a little to see the door of the cell, with a closed panel in it. _

"_Scheming eyes, cruel mouth, lips too red." She pauses. "She looks in from time to time."_

"_I… I don't know," Kathryn says. "I don't know how I got here."_

"_A man brought you in," says the other woman. "Never seen him before. Not one of the usual ones." There's a long pause."What's your name?" she asks presently._

"_K-Kathryn." She's feeling woozy again, a heavy sort of sleepiness, like she's been drugged. With a jolt, she realises that she probably has been. "Yours?"_

"_Belle. I think."_

"_You think? You mean you don't know?"_

_Belle-I-think shakes her head. _

"_No-one's called me anything for as long as I can remember." She shrugs. "But Belle… it feels right. It's what he calls me in my dreams, and they say dreams are just memories, really, memories of another life."_

_Kathryn doesn't have time to wonder at her strange cellmate before she's surrendered to oblivion again…_

_When she next wakes, she can hear voices outside the cell. Belle is still in the same position as before, curled up with her head on her knees, and she looks to be asleep herself. She twitches every now and then, frowning in her slumber. Kathryn tries to tune into the other voices she can hear. Their speech is barely audible, but she tries nonetheless. It's a man and a woman, talking in hissed whispers outside the door. _

"…_You fool! You put her in with _her_…"_

_The female voice sounds slightly familiar, but Kathryn's too foggy to place it. _

_The male voice is lower and she can only make out one word._

"_Grace."_

_The woman replies with a single syllable._

"_No."_

"_We had a deal," says the man, his voice louder now, raised a little in anger. "I made her disappear, and you gave me Grace."_

"_No, because you screwed up. You failed, Jefferson. The deal is void. Now fix this mess!"_

_If Kathryn didn't know better, she'd say the voice belonged to Regina. _

_She sees the panel in the door begin to lift up and shuts her eyes on instinct, pretending to be asleep. It slams back down and Kathryn hears Belle wake with a little squeak before high-heeled shoes click away into inaudibility as she drifts back into a narcotic induced sleep…_

_When she next wakes, she is in a different room, alone, but the smell of damp and disinfectant still lingers – she's evidently in the same place, just elsewhere within it. There is food and water on a tray beside the bed, and after a while, Kathryn trusts her pounding head enough not to collapse as soon as she tries to get vertical. She sits up gingerly and nibbles the plain bread; the last lingering effects of the drugs are making her queasy, but at the same time she feels faint with hunger. _

_She wonders how long she's been unconscious for, and whether she is being constantly dosed in her sleep to keep her under. Feeling less likely to fall over at any given moment, Kathryn gets up and tiptoes across the room towards the door, trying it for want of something to do but it's locked, of course. There was never any doubt of that, but she can hope for a miracle. She doesn't know why she feels the need to be so quiet; by all accounts she should be screaming her head off for someone to come and rescue her. But she gets the feeling that no-one would hear, and if there's no-one to hear, why make any sound?_

_She thinks of Belle and her cracked, squeaky voice, out of use for so long. There's no point in talking if you've no-one to talk to. Kathryn wonders why the other girl is here. She wonders why _she's_ here. What has she done to deserve this? Who did she fall foul of? Is she being held to ransom?_

_She wonders if David would pay if she were. She wonders if he's looking for her. But then again, he should think she's in Boston. Maybe no-one even knows she's missing yet. After all, the car crashed right on the boundary, and no-one seems to leave town much. Perhaps they don't even know she's gone. _

_Kathryn wonders where she is. Something in the back of her mind is convinced it's a hospital – she can't quite pin down the strange smell to anywhere else. Is she in Storybrooke, though, or elsewhere? She can't see anything out of the window, only the sky. _

_Cautiously, Kathryn pushes open the little flap in the door with her fingertips, peering through the little hole to see if she can see anything. Nothing, just more cold concrete walls and heavy doors. _

"_Belle?" she whispers "Are you there?"_

_There's no reply, She didn't expect one, really, but it would have been nice to have someone to talk to. Maybe that's the reason they were separated. Kathryn shakes her head to try and clear the fuzziness, but it won't go. She's been drugged again, probably in the water. At least she knows the warning signs now, and makes it to the hard bed before she swoons…_

_The next days blend into each other. Kathryn can't tell whether or not she's dreaming most of the time. Day and night seem to be the same, and she never sees another soul. Her food is brought in whilst she's asleep, and although she pours away the water and gets fresh from the sink, she never seems to be able to shake the feeling of the surreal, she's still evidently being dosed in another manner. _

_Every so often, she peers out of the door to see if there's anyone there. She no longer thinks she's been kidnapped for ransom; surely she would have at least seen her kidnappers by now. Don't victims usually make tearful pleas on video for their relatives to save them? Or at least speak to them on the phone to make sure they're all right? _

_It's at this point that Kathryn wonders, with a jolt, if she's about to die, abducted by a mad scientist and made into part of an experiment – too many horror films catching up with her. The fear is clawing and oppressive. She pushes open the little flap and looks round as much as she can, looking for someone, anyone. _

"_Belle?" she calls, a little louder than the first time. She can hear the panic in her voice. Oh dear god, what if she's not there because they've already killed her? She begins to feel light-headed, but then there's a little click, and Kathryn sees pale fingers push open a flap in the door across from her, and she can just make out blue eyes in the gloom beyond._

"_Are you all right?" Kathryn asks, for want of a better question, just overjoyed to see the other girl alive, to have some company in this place. _

_The eyes incline slightly in a nod._

"_I'm not used to hearing other people say my name," she says. "Huh. Don't even know if it's my name."_

_She stiffens suddenly._

"_Someone's coming."_

_And then she's gone, the flap dropped back down, and Kathryn too can hear the footsteps. Someone's muttering under their breath, again she makes out that single word. Grace. It's the man from before, the one who had been talking to someone who could have been Regina._

_Why would Regina want to lock her up?_

_Kathryn rushes back to her little bed as the footsteps get closer, curling up and pretending to be asleep. She hears the lock of the door scrape open and then the door itself._

_She watches the man who enters through narrowed eyes; he doesn't notice it. He continues to mutter to himself, and Kathryn is too foggy and too scared to try and work out what he's saying. She feels a prick in the crook of her elbow – drugged again…_

_The next time she wakes up she can feel the wind on her face. She's lying on her back at the edge of the woods on the outskirts of town. She's free. She's back in Storybrooke where she left off. For a brief moment, she wonders if the past days have been simply imagination, a fevered dream of the unconscious mind, but no, as delirious as she may have been, she knows it was real. _

"_Ah, good, you're awake."_

_Kathryn looks around as she sits up, gingerly. Belle is with her, just as she was when she first woke up in the basement – Kathryn's now more convinced than ever it was a hospital building she was held in. This time, though, Belle is not curled up on herself, immobile and resigned to her fate. She is crouched on the ground swathed in the huge coat that the muttering man had worn, and her face is a picture of blind, helpless fear. In the distance, Kathryn can hear the cars on the main road, and Belle flinches visibly every time one passes. The poor girl has obviously not been outside in a long time._

_As soon as she sees that Kathryn is awake and comparatively well, she bolts into the trees, fear finally overcoming her. Kathryn is too woozy and weak to try and follow her, but she calls out._

"_Belle! Belle! Come back!"_

_There's no response, and Kathryn gets to her feet unsteadily. There's only one thing to do. _

_Get home._

X

"And that pretty much brings me to now." Kathryn concludes her tale. "I walked back into town and went into Granny's as the first building I saw."

Emma nods, dumbstruck for the moment, appalled and outraged in equal measure that something like this could happen in real life as opposed to a film.

There's no doubt in her mind that Regina's voice definitely belonged to Regina, and the hospital building that Kathryn was held in is the very same one in which they currently sit. She had been right under their noses the whole time… No wonder Regina was so very assured of her victory, and so very shocked when it all came tumbling down. When she'd been able to keep such a close eye on everything for so long, it still managed to unravel before her eyes.

Regina's hold on Storybrooke is slipping. It began with Emma's election as sheriff. And now, this.

Emma thanks Kathryn for her time and lets her get back to sleep, an unmedicated one this time. She sits in the corridor outside Kathryn's room and makes a list of everything she needs to do once she's had some sleep and the sun is up – she's performed enough damage limitation now, she thinks, that Regina will not be able to undo _all_ her good work in the few hours she will be away from the hospital. All the same, she makes another note. Tomorrow she will investigate the crash site as a matter of procedure; she will comb the hospital from top to bottom (enlisting Leroy's help if necessary) and find where Kathryn and Belle were held, and if there are any other poor, unfortunate souls. She will find something that links Regina to this whole mess, and she is taking the bitch down if it's the last thing she does.

Madam Mayor has ruined enough lives.

But first she must eat and sleep, to be fresh for the morning's tasks. There are just a couple of things to be done before she clocks off to begin again tomorrow. Emma can't help feeling that Belle is the key, the catalyst to the whole affair, and she is determined that there will be no long-lost relations or spouses suddenly popping up out of the woodwork this time, not when she has seen the devastation that was wrought in the wake of David coming out of his coma. No, this time Emma has learnt Regina's modus operandi, and she intends to beat the mayor at her own game. She has Mr Gold on side, at least, and he should be able to help her.

So even though she is under no obligation to, Emma returns to the ER waiting room. Gold is gone; Emma's brow furrows until an orderly informs her that Jane Doe pulled through her surgery (she's s tough little thing, apparently, even though she arrested on the operating table, they got her back despite the odds) and she is in intensive care. She must have been talking to Kathryn for longer than she realised.

The orderly shows her the way, and sure enough, Gold is there, standing outside the room, one hand pressed up against the glass that separates him from the woman he thought dead for God-knows-how-long. She comes up beside him.

"Go on in," she says. "She needs a friendly face."

"Hardly friendly." Gold snorts. "The circumstances of our parting were rather acrimonious, Sheriff. I believe I am the last person she would want to see."

"No, the last person she would want to see is Regina," Emma says plainly.

She doesn't tell him that Regina locked Belle up for seemingly no apparent reason, after all, he's probably figured out as much for himself. She doesn't want him going on a one-man revenge mission, they both know how the last one turned out. (The thought of Moe French brings her full circle and she has an idea, one that might be hard to execute, but will hopefully be fruitful.) He's already threatened Madam Mayor once; she does not need him making Regina into the injured party when Emma may well need to call upon his help to bring the woman down once and for all.

Gold looks through the glass at Belle, with an expression of such hurt and longing – Emma and the rest of the town hadn't thought him capable of such emotion. But at the same time, the shadow of the very dangerous, very powerful man is still there, fighting through the broken pieces, and there's something else that Emma recognises as fear, unused as she is to seeing it on him.

"I'm working on Regina," she promises him.

Gold nods, slowly.

"You know where to find me should you require my assistance, Sheriff," he says, and begins to push open the door. "I will be all too happy to give it if it ruins the witch."

Emma nods. Allies again, however mismatched they are, once more unto the breach. This time, they will not fail. This time, they are prepared. This time, they know what they are up against.

"Oh, and Emma… Thank you."

"No worries. I'm Sheriff. It's my job to catch the bad guys."

That's not what he's referring to, they both know that, but neither says anything to contradict it. Gold gives the very briefest of smiles, and tentatively enters Belle's room. Emma watches him; it takes him a few moments to move any further than the door, but after a while he goes across and sits in the chair beside the bed, carefully and gently taking Belle's limp hand in his.

She goes to leave, determining to check on Belle (and Gold, since he shows no signs of leaving her proximity any time soon) first thing in the morning. If she knows Regina, this will be her first port of call as well, and she needs to pre-empt her.

Emma grabs the nearest nurse.

"If the Mayor comes within twenty feet of that room, call me immediately," she says.

She will not let Regina gain the upper hand again. Not this time. Not ever.

* * *

**To be continued**


	3. Chapter 3

**On The Nature of Lady Justice**

"_Justice shall not be served until those who are unaffected are as outraged as those who are." – Benjamin Franklin_

**Part Three**

Today, Emma says to herself, she is a woman on a mission. Today, she takes on Regina, and she's roping in the entire town to help her if necessary. Not that she's going to tell them what she's doing, of course. If she stated her plans, they'd simply wish her well and begin pondering messages to put on her gravestone. No, she's learned from the master of deception; as much as it goes against her nature, she'll use Gold's underhand tactics if she has to. She's done it before, although the results were questionable – she cannot help think of breaking into Regina's office with Sidney and the fallout from that. Henry says that good can never win because good has to fight fair. Emma's sick of fighting fair. She's gunning for Regina; she won't go down without an almighty battle.

Because Emma's been thinking, and Emma has a plan. A plan that might involve exploiting some loopholes in what constitutes fair play. Not playing dirty completely, because, as she warned herself last night, she cannot afford to make Regina into the victim. But Emma's got a few tricks up her sleeve that might help her outwit the mayor, now she knows and fully appreciates what she's up against.

Firstly, as insular as it is, she must trust no-one with her ultimate plan. Parts of the plan, certainly; she'll never be able to pull the entire thing off on her own, she'll need back up. But not the whole plan. Ironically, the only person she trusts in this matter is Gold, a man she wouldn't trust with anything else as far as she could spit. He is the only person Emma knows to want to bring down Regina as much as she does, and the only person she's fairly certain will not let slip anything accidently. He is not the type to be coerced into divulging information, she knows it only too well. She's still not planning on telling anyone her agenda though. If no-one knows her plans but her, perhaps Regina won't get wind of them and be able to pre-empt her every move as she seems to have been able to do so far. Emma is used to being a loner. This shouldn't be too difficult.

Secondly, she's going to have to go about this subtly but forcefully, subtly enough not to arouse too much suspicion, but forcefully enough to get the answers she needs with no arguments.

Finally, she can allow no time for second guessing herself. Every thought, every idea, must be followed up immediately lest Regina get there first. Today will be one long, hectic game of cat and mouse, but Emma hopes it will be worth it.

Her first port of call is Granny's, for three coffees. Mary Margaret has promised to be her wing woman without asking too many questions. She knows that Emma's investigating the cataclysmic events of yesterday, but thankfully, she doesn't want to know the details. She'll be on hand to run any little errands that Emma might need, as long as they won't throw up too many awkward interrogations. (It'll be nice to have someone to pick up some lunch, if nothing else, after all, Emma's trying to investigate a serious incident single-handedly, she'd need some kind of back-up even if she wasn't trying to bring down Regina at the same time.) As much as she knows she has to spearhead this alone, she can't be in two places at once, and she can't keep an eye on Regina all the time. Who knows where the woman might show up? Without knowing it, Mary Margaret is becoming a second pair of eyes and ears today.

Mary Margaret stays in the diner a little while to talk to Ruby and Granny, to be welcomed back into society as a free woman before she returns to the safety of the apartment. Emma has said to ring the moment Regina shows up, even if it's just a silent phone call or she hangs up after three rings. The mayor will be trying to muddy the waters again today, and Emma doesn't want to take any chances.

Emma takes the two other coffees to her ultimate destination – the hospital. Sure enough, Gold is still sitting by Belle's bedside. As much as she would like to enlist his active help in the fight against Regina, she doesn't trust him enough to have him in any situation where he's alone with the mayor in case he does the woman some damage.

She knocks on the door softly and enters. Gold rouses from the doze he's fallen into in the uncomfortable chair beside the bed, and accepts the coffee gratefully.

It's time to put part one of her master plan into action. She's got to find out if there are any potential relatives who could come to claim Belle, or who Regina could find somewhere and bring in. As the only person so far who knows her, Gold should be able to shed some light on the matter.

"Does she have any family?" Emma asks, not bothering with the usual morning pleasantries; there's no need with Gold, the awkwardness would be screaming. Far better to cut the chase. "Parents, siblings, significant others aside from yourself? They'll need to be told."

Gold huffs. "Much good her family did her when she was locked up for however many years."

"Gold…" Emma tries to be patient. He's been through the wringer and he's out of his comfort zone. "Please. Trying to keep this from them will not help matters."

Gold looks up at her, a little blearily, and surveys her through the steam from the coffee cup.

"I don't know," he says, and it's the truth. "I don't believe she has any family in Storybrooke."

Again, like last night, his words are measured, careful, speaking the truth but succinctly, giving her the bare bones of the story only. It's always the embellishments that mark a lie, Emma knows from experience, they're what make the words ring hollow.

If Belle has family, Emma wants to find them before Regina does.

"What's her surname?"

If she's being honest with herself, Emma has a suspicion. She has always wondered at the identity of the mystery woman who links Gold and Moe French, a woman of whom Gold had refused to speak and of whom Moe denied all knowledge. But then again, Gold did say she had no family in Storybrooke…

Gold sighs. "I don't know."

Emma narrows her eyes.

"She worked for you, Gold. You paid her wages. You must know her name."

"And I'm telling you, I don't." His voice would be dangerous if it wasn't so drained, but above everything, it's frustrated. He's angry with himself. "It was cash in hand, I never signed a payslip."

Emma lets him be. She's got enough to be getting on with. Her next stop is the records office, to see if she can find Belle's family for herself. She doesn't want anything to come back to bite her and Gold if she's not careful.

X

Gold sighs and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He's in too deep now, he was in too deep the moment he'd lost control with Moe and crossed that irreparable line between this world and the last, the line that marked him as Rumpelstiltskin to the Queen. The sheriff is asking the simplest questions in the world, but they're ones he cannot answer. Theoretically, Belle's surname should be French, but it's not, because in this world, _Belle doesn't exist_. Moe French has no daughter. Gerard Chevalier, his useless assistant who had once been a rose which had once been a fiancé, has never met the sweet girl with the chestnut curls and the love of books. He himself has no false memories of Belle; they never knew each other in this world. The only memories he has are of their old world, which is why he can say so little of use to Emma.

He'd love to tell her the whole tale, but she'd never believe it.

Regina was unimaginative in that aspect. She could have given him false memories of Belle, of a pretty housekeeper he drove away. She could have given Moe a daughter dead at Gold's hand and given the two men real reason to loathe each other, each blaming the other for an act that never even happened. But she didn't, because she never felt the need to. Wasted effort, really. Her goal was always Snow and Charming; everyone else fell by the wayside, unimportant.

Perhaps, now that he thinks about it, forgoing Belle's existence in this world was actually canny on Regina's part, a safety valve of her own in case he remembered. Mr Gold and Moe French will meet at some point in town, and Regina can watch the fallout, and know, just as she did when the fallout inevitably came, that Rumpelstiltskin remembers.

He pushes all thoughts of Regina to the back of his mind and focuses on Belle. A miracle has brought her back to him, the precious soul he thought lost, but although he is sitting right beside her and holding her pale, thin hand in his, she is still so very far away, she is still so very hurt, and he could lose her in a moment.

The only noises are the beeping of the monitors and the soft hiss of the ventilator. His brave, bold, beautiful Belle, always so strong, cannot even breathe on her own. Scared out of her mind, she ran into the path of a moving vehicle and stared there, frozen in fear, literally a rabbit in the headlights. Belle does not exist in this world, not the Belle he knew, and it breaks his heart, because not only do the people of Storybrooke not know her, she does not know herself. It's almost as if Regina forgot about her, the curse wiping her memories but the Queen not seeing fit to provide her with any new ones.

Yes, he's definitely in too deep now. If he'd held his tongue when Belle had been brought in, feigned ignorance…

But he's lost her once, and he won't do so again. Never. He's in too deep but there's no going back, and if he's going to hell in a hand basket then so be it. He'll never regret it.

Minutes become hours, the noises drone on until he can no longer hear them, and Emma returns. She knocks before she comes in, which he feels is a nice touch. She folds her arms and raises one eyebrow at him when she gets inside, which he feels isn't.

"You haven't been home since last night, have you?" She shakes her head. "Seriously, Gold… Go home, have a shower and a shave and some breakfast."

Well, there's a problem there. He doesn't want to let Belle out of his sight lest Regina spirit her away again. So he matches Emma's expression, and neither one of them is going to give an inch. Unfortunately, Emma's right. He hasn't eaten since yesterday lunchtime, he's uncomfortable, and his knee is fast becoming unforgiving.

"I won't leave her alone," he says simply. "Not with Regina on the prowl."

Emma smiles weakly, and slumps against the door, her expression already tired despite the comparatively early hour.

"You don't want to let her out of your sight," she says. "I understand. But you can't stay here indefinitely."

Gold just looks at her.

"Will you stay with her, then?" he asks plainly. "I will not leave her alone."

He hopes that his voice conveys that there is to be absolutely no negotiating this point.

Emma looks out of the door; she's visibly torn.

"I can't, I have to get this mess sorted out," she says. "But what about someone else; someone trustworthy?"

Gold snorts, because he knows more than most just who and who isn't trustworthy in this town.

"We're in the ICU, Sheriff," he points out. "They don't let just anyone in. I'm here because everyone's scared of me and I'm the nearest thing to family that Belle has at the moment. You're here because you're the sheriff and you're investigating what's happened. We'd need a damn good excuse for another random stranger turning up unannounced."

Emma nods her agreement, then smiles as if she's had a brainwave before leaving the room and disappearing off down the corridor.

Roughly twenty minutes later she returns, with, of all people, Mary Margaret Blanchard timidly following in her footsteps. There's a young ICU nurse with them, the one Emma spoke to the previous evening. Her name badge reads _Tara Castle_ but in the back of his mind, Gold recognises her as Rapunzel, the girl in the tower.

He was not the only one to trade in infants in their old lives. At least he always found his good homes and never locked them in towers.

Gold gives a minute nod of approval; yes, he trusts Miss Blanchard and Nurse Castle to take care of things in his absence. Emma is smoothing things along quite nicely; he likes to think that he taught her well how to bend the truth just enough for it not to be a lie. Mary Margaret is allowed in to see Belle; she did save her life after all, keeping her heart beating until the ambulance arrived. Gold owes her no small debt, and he tells her as much as they pass in the doorway. The teacher manages a small smile.

"I was only doing what any decent person would do in the circumstances, Mr Gold."

That's the thing with inherently good people. They don't see life as a system of checks and balances, deals and favours, as he has done for longer than he cares to remember. Good Snow White is quite willing to do what must be done and expect nothing in return.

Still, Gold feels indebted, but as much as he hates the feeling, he would far rather live with it and have Belle by his side than the other way around. He's about to leave, but he turns back and limps the few steps back to Belle's bedside. He wants to kiss her forehead, but he feels that to do so in front of three witnesses might cause a few too many questions about exactly what the relationship is between them, and Gold has had enough of awkward questions. He touches her hand and murmurs a promise that he'll be back soon. It's not a promise he intends to break.

X

Now that Gold has gone, Emma can put the next stage of her rather drawn-out plan into action, and she calls on help from an unlikely source. She's asked Moe French to come to the hospital and see if he recognises Belle.

Emma's ninety per cent certain that he won't, but there's something in the back of her mind that won't let it go until she's got the proof to go with it. Her trip to the town archives proved utterly useless. There is no record of a Belle or any other variation thereof, no Bellas, Isabelles, Annabelles, Arabellas. There is no record of Moe French having a daughter. But records can be incomplete, or missing in the mayor's clutches, ready to be produced with a flourish at the most inappropriate of moments; so Emma's going to do it the old-fashioned way, which is why she needed Gold to be absent. If, by some strange coincidence, Moe does recognise Belle, then it'll be far better if Gold isn't there at the time. She doesn't need a repeat of Valentine's Day.

The florist comes up to her and Emma indicates the comatose young woman through the glass door. He looks, hard, but shakes his head.

"She's familiar… Vaguely… But she's not family, Sheriff. I couldn't say who she is. Sorry I couldn't be more helpful."

"That's all right," Emma says brightly, perhaps a little too brightly, as one worry lifts off her chest, one loose end neatly sewn up. Not that it really helps much in the grander scheme of things, but if it means one less puppet that Regina can call upon to do her bidding, then so be it. Her mind is at ease for the most part.

"If you don't mind me asking, Sheriff… Why me?"

Emma can't really answer that one, so she gives the barest minimum of the truth, like she has become accustomed to hearing from Gold. As annoying as the man's reticence is, she'd rather have small amounts of truth than an awful lot of lies.

"Just following up on a couple of lines of enquiry. It's no matter."

Moe nods and then shrugs.

"Well, if there's anything else I can do to help, Sheriff."

"Actually, there is." Emma gives the line that she has been giving out to everyone she meets; she told it to the record-keeper too. "If Regina pays you a visit, let me know."

"Sure." Thankfully, he doesn't ask why. Slowly, ever surely, she is building up her little resistance, involving people in her fight against Regina without them really knowing it. Moe goes to leave the hospital and Emma gives Mary Margaret a quick reassuring wave through door before leaving for another destination within the building. The security office. If anywhere has blueprints of the hospital, it'll be there.

Walter is snoring when she knocks and enters, as is to be expected. Emma gives a small sigh of despair; there's no wonder that Regina could get away with keeping people locked in the basement if this is the man in charge of watching over the place.

"Walter. Walter!"

He jerks awake and the motion sends him flying from where he had been precariously balanced with his feet on the desk. He lands in an ungainly heap on the floor and Emma rolls her eyes before stretching out a hand to help him up.

"Erm, hi Sheriff," Walter begins, and tries to stifle a yawn. "I was just resting my eyes for a minute. How can I help you?"

"Have you got a map?" Emma asks. Best to be blunt with it in Walter's case, she feels. "A map of the hospital, I mean."

"Yeah, somewhere round here…" Walter peers around the office and finally locates the floorplans under a box of old CCTV tapes. "Here we are."

Emma spreads them out on the desk, mentally mapping the hospital as she locates the different wards, the doors that lead in and out.

"Where's the basement?" she asks.

"Pardon?" Walter seems utterly perplexed by her question.

"The basement," Emma repeats. "Where's the basement? It's not on here."

"Well, it's just the boiler room," Walter says. "It wouldn't be on the plans."

Hmm. Emma doesn't like the sound of this. She knows the hospital has a basement; she has seen the ground level windows covered with safety mesh outside – she made a point of looking for them when she first came to the hospital this morning. The fact there seems to be no architectural record of it and it is so blithely passed off as a boiler room is not the least suspicious of circumstances.

"Where is it?" she asks again. "Where's the access?"

"It would be…" Walter peers down at the map. "Here." He pinpoints a wall at one end of the emergency room.

"Great." Emma rolls up the map and tucks it under one arm for safekeeping. "Wish me luck."

"Wait, Sheriff…" Walter rushes out of the room after her as she wends her way in the direction of the emergency department. It's the most awake that Emma's ever seen him. "Why do you want the basement?" he asks, still obviously confused by this rather unexpected turn of events.

"I have a feeling that it might be where Kathryn was held hostage," Emma explains succinctly. She doesn't voice her suspicions as to precisely _who_ kept her there. Walter accepts this theory, but still pads after her. They reach the door, marked 'EXIT' and locked with a keypad.

The evidence so far is not at all encouraging. Emma tries punching in a few random numbers, but nothing works.

"Sister, what are you doing?"

Leroy has come over to see what his friend and the sheriff are up to, trying to break into the basement.

"We're trying to get through this door, Leroy," Emma says patiently. "What does it look like we're doing?"

"Well, you'll never get through it like that," he says. "Here, let me."

He pushes past both sheriff and security guard and punches in a set of numbers. The door releases with an electrical clink and Leroy shrugs.

"You know the code?" Emma asks incredulously. Maybe the basement is just a boiler room after all. She can't imagine Regina letting just anyone know the code to her secret hostage holding room. "How come?"

"I'm the janitor, I know all the codes in here," Leroy says, completely matter-of-fact. "Even the morgue."

"Have you ever been down there?" Emma asks. Leroy shakes his head.

"It's just the boiler room," he says. "Never had any reason to."

Emma pushes open the door before it has a chance to lock itself again, and she begins down the steps into the basement. Perhaps misinformation has been Regina's game all along. Maybe, just as she hid Kathryn practically in plain sight, she just spreads boring information to keep people away. No-one is likely to go into a room they have access to if they don't think that there is anything useful or interesting in it. A door that one is forbidden to go through and no-one has access to, on the other hand, would engender far more unwanted attention.

She hears Leroy and Walter's footsteps on the stairs behind her; perhaps they're worried that their sheriff has gone totally round the bend and they want to keep an eye on her.

But when they reach the foot of the stairs, however, Emma feels herself fully justified in her theory.

"Woah." Leroy gives voice to Emma's exact thoughts. "This sure as hell ain't a boiler room."

It's a ward. That much is obvious. Another ward in the hospital that isn't on any of the plans.

Strike one against Regina. But then again, she can always deny knowledge of this room. Never mind, this is only the beginning of the investigation. There's still plenty of time, and it's best to get priorities sorted first. The front desk is unmanned, and it looks like the usual occupant deserted it in a hurry. There's a half-drunk cup of tea, now stone-cold, on the table, notes and pens still strewn everywhere it. A single red rose, wilted now and past its prime, sits in a jug of water. And, there, in pride of place, too obvious to be anything but noticed, is the beginning of Emma's tangible proof.

A honeycrisp apple. There is only one such tree in Storybrooke, and everyone knows where it is…

She leaves the desk and moves further into the ward, round the rabbit warren of cold stone walls, exactly as Kathryn described.

The ward, Emma realises with a little jolt, is obviously the _mental_ ward. Whatever it is, it should still be on the floorplans, marked on the maps of the hospital. That it does not exist, just as Belle seems not to exist, is too coincidental, and Emma does not believe in coincidences. She looks through the little panels in each of the doors, checking to see if there are any other poor, unfortunate souls locked away down here, but there are none. Each little cell is empty.

Two of the doors swing open under her touch. They're opposite each other, and Emma begins to wonder if this was where Kathryn and Belle were held.

Time for more investigation. It's just an idea, and a long-shot, much like Moe had been. But it's still an idea, and Emma already knows that she has to act on her ideas sooner rather than later today. She rushes back towards the front desk and the two men she left there, gawping at the place they never knew existed under their place of work.

"Don't move," she tells them. "Don't let anyone in here, Sheriff's orders."

Walter and Leroy nod their mute assent and Emma sprints back to the squad car, retrieving all the items she could possibly need and some that she probably won't.

The first thing that she does upon her return is cordon the area off in crime scene tape. It's silly, but a little part of Emma still feels a thrill at being able to do that. She relieves Walter and Leroy of their watch, but they elect to stay down in the basement with her, watching her work and offering any assistance they might be able to give. Storybrooke was a quiet town before Emma Swan drove her little yellow Volkswagen into it, and now they have had adultery, murder, kidnap, frame-up… It makes sense for some of the residents to be morbidly fascinated by these new and wholly unexpected goings-on.

Sufficiently cordoned off – ok, maybe she overdid the tape a bit – Emma begins to dust for prints. It's all very well confronting the mayor with an apple and claiming it as proof that she knows about the existence of an illegal asylum under the hospital, but it would never stand up to scrutiny.

Fingerprints, on the other hand…

She takes dabs from as many surfaces as she can find, determining to run them through the system later. Perhaps she can also glean the identity of Regina's mysterious accomplice, the muttering man in the greatcoat that Kathryn described to her.

Grudgingly, Walter and Leroy leave her to return to their day jobs. Emma casually mentions that perhaps they oughtn't make this place public knowledge just yet, but she's not quite as worried in that respect. An entire mental ward would be a lot harder to make disappear than some files.

Speaking of files… Emma packs up her fingerprint kit and steps behind the front desk, carefully sifting through some of the papers there to see if there is anything of use.

She's just opened the first file when she hears raised voices above her.

"Where's the sheriff?" asks someone whom Emma recognises, with a horrible jolt, as Tara, the little nurse she'd seconded into keeping watch over Belle and keeping an eye out for Regina.

"She's down in the basement," she hears Leroy reply, and then Tara's footsteps running down the stairs towards her. Simultaneously, Emma's phone begins to ring in her pocket. She looks at the caller ID; it's Mary Margaret.

"Sheriff!" Tara bursts into the ward from the stairs, not batting an eyelid at her strange surroundings.

Emma's blood is already running cold as Tara continues.

"The mayor's here."


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: **I apologise profusely for the appallingly long wait for these last instalments. There are no excuses. *Hangs head in shame*.

* * *

**On The Nature of Lady Justice**

"_Justice should not only be done, but should manifestly and undoubtedly be seen to be done" – Gordon Hewart_

**Part Four**

Emma races back to the ICU as fast as she can, Tara hot on her heels. When she arrives in the corridor, she finds a scene that she had hoped never to see. Regina and Mary Margaret are facing off outside Belle's room, the former calm and placid, her expression nasty, and the latter defensive and wary. Doctor Whale stands between the two women, trying desperately to act as an arbitrator.

"Madam Mayor," he's pleading as he tries to reason with her. "Miss Doe is in a coma in a critical condition; she has suffered massive blood loss and internal trauma and she absolutely cannot be moved! I understand your concern but as a medical professional I cannot allow her to leave this hospital."

"Your concern about what?" Emma asks, her jaw set and arms folded. Regina turns to her, the smile on her face disarmingly benign.

"Ah, Sheriff Swan. I ought to congratulate you. You've assisted in the recapture of a dangerous mental patient. It seems our 'Miss Doe' made a last ditch escape attempt. As I was explaining to Dr Whale, I am arranging for her to be transported to a far more secure medical facility in Boston." She pauses. "Her name is Isabella Avonlea. Such a shame; a brilliant young mind sent criminally insane by heartbreak."

Emma knows what she is meant to infer from the words, but she has come too far to be taken in by Regina now. So she replies with one word.

"Bullshit."

Regina raises her eyebrows, having the audacity to look mildly offended at Emma's blatant disbelief of her story.

"Really, Miss Swan?" she asks.

"Really, Madam Mayor," Emma counters. She wants to say more, but anything she might say may, in true legal fashion, be used against her. She doesn't want to give away her plan. Not that she's thought of a plan yet, but considering the excellent job that Regina usually does of pre-empting her, Emma wouldn't be surprised if she plucks the thoughts right out of her head.

"May I ask the reason for your utter incredulity?" Regina asks. Emma shakes her head. This plan of Regina's is too hasty, too cobbled together from the wreckage of her empire at the last minute. There are cracks in it, barely perceptible but still there. The lie is too elaborate to have been properly thought through. The more far-fetched something is, the more likely it is to be true, but every well thought out lie always has a tulip touch, a detail that can make the most ridiculous of concepts somehow plausible. Regina's lie, although so outlandish it could be true, is lacking that something that keeps it grounded, because for once, Emma has thought ahead. She's been to the archives, she's almost certain that 'Isabella Avonlea' does not exist. She knows that the hospital has no official mental ward. And she knows – or at least, she hopes she knows – that there is only one psychiatric doctor in the town.

Emma knows, because Emma was a bounty hunter, that everything has a paper trail. It's the most foolproof way of finding out anything, and it is both hard to fake and hard to hide. There's always one piece of paper that slips through the net. It is the paper trail that will prove Regina's undoing in this case. At least she hopes it will.

"I don't know, Madam Mayor. Just call it a hunch. But you heard the doctor; Belle's not going anywhere." She pauses. "Proof. Bring me proof, Regina. Hard, solid, tangible proof. You can't expect me to examine the facts in an impartial manner befitting a sheriff without proof."

Proof is the key. Emma can't do anything without proof of Regina's misdeeds, but neither can Regina do anything without proof of Belle's.

Suddenly a voice cuts through the tense air, a voice that Emma never thought she'd ever say she'd be glad to hear.

"Well. This is quite the merry gathering." Regina turns, and Emma sees Gold standing behind her, so incredibly still as always, the anger and the influence emanating from him in almost palpable waves. He takes a few steps towards them and leans forward, invading Regina's personal space. She flinches. "I don't see why you have any business here, Madam Mayor," he hisses, an inch from her face. "And remember that my previous words still stand." He pushes past the mayor and steps into Belle's room. Regina and Emma watch him; Mary Margaret and Dr Whale have been, however subconsciously, backing away from the showdown between the two women in the corridor. Tara, who has been hovering behind Emma the entire time, seems to come back to herself and remember why she's there, and she too enters the little intensive care room to go about her job, checking Belle's drips and lines, making sure she is comfortable and her heart rate is stable. Gold settles himself back in the chair beside the bed and once more takes her hand in his.

"I want proof," Emma repeats. "Till then, that woman is Belle Doe and she's as sane as I am."

Regina smiles, the expression positively venomous.

"I thought you might say that. Well, you're in luck, Miss Swan, as I just so happen to have some."

The mayor pulls a crisp sheet of paper from her handbag and passes it over to Emma, who looks at it with a rapidly sinking heart. Once again, Regina has managed to pre-empt her. The paper is certifying Miss Isabella Avonlea – and there is a picture, so there's no confusion – as incurably insane, committing her to a mental institution for life. Emma stares at it blankly. How has this managed to happen? She has been so careful, explored all the possible options.

"So now that this is all cleared up, Sheriff," Regina is saying, "I suggest you get on with the task you're supposed to be investigating, namely who kidnapped Kathryn."

Emma glares at the mayor.

"I think the culprit might be closer than you think," she snaps.

"Are you accusing me of something, Sheriff?" Regina asks again, echoing her words of the previous evening. Emma does likewise.

"Not yet, Madam Mayor."

Regina scowls, turning on her heel and leaving the corridor. Emma lets out a long breath, willing herself to keep calm, and she looks once more at the piece of paper in her hand. _Isabella Avonlea_. Here it is, her proof in black and white, and she doesn't believe a word of it.

Something catches her eye at the bottom of the page, and she scrolls down to the signatures past the foreboding descriptions.

_Archibald Hopper MD_

Archie signed off on this certification. So if there's anyone who can tell her the story behind it, it's him. She looks at Mary Margaret, then through the glass at Tara, Gold and Belle.

Looks like her next stop is the psychiatrist's.

X

"Hello Emma." Archie seems surprised to see her, but not unhappy. He's as welcoming and unbiased as he always is. Emma comes into his office and hovers, thinking through her plan again. Like Regina's, it is extremely flimsy and pieced together, but she hopes that it will hold up. She's sent Mary Margaret back to the town archives in search of anything related to Isabella Avonlea. Walter and Leroy are standing guard over the police cordon across the entrance to the mental ward, with the usual instructions to call if the mayor arrives. She's having to draw on allies now as the web of intrigue grows. She only made one detour on her way to Archie's whilst formulating her plan, and that was to the station to put her fingerprint samples into the system for analysis. She had been so caught up in the mystery of Belle that she had almost forgotten that she's not only investigating an unforeseen appearance, but also an unforeseen disappearance – Kathryn's kidnap.

"Take a seat," Archie continues, gesturing to the couch. "How can I help? Is this about Kathryn's kidnap?"

"In a way," Emma says. "Believe me, Kathryn's kidnap is only the start of it, it's opened up a whole can of worms." She pauses, a little unsure of how to proceed because although she knows that Archie is on her side – or at least, he's a decent man – she also knows that he is a professional with a strict code of ethics. She doesn't know how much what she is about to ask will impinge on those ethics. He did let her see Henry's files, after all, but well, that was part of a bigger setup so she doesn't dwell on it. "Archie, can I ask you something blunt?"

"Go ahead," Archie says.

"Have you ever declared anyone insane?"

"Pardon?" Archie seems a little taken aback by the question.

"Have you ever declared anyone criminally, incurably insane?" Emma asks again. "Could your signature be found at the bottom of anything certifying someone?"

"I…" Archie's brow furrows and he thinks for a long moment. "No. I'd remember something like that."

The answer doesn't inspire Emma with much confidence.

"Would you remember if someone showed you a certification with your signature at the bottom?" This is what she fears; a repeat of David's memories being awakened by the sight of an old windmill in Gold's shop. Archie may claim never to have declared someone insane, but if she shows him something that could have been signed at his hand, will it trigger something? She tries a different approach.

"Have you ever treated an Isabella Avonlea?" she asks. "I don't want to know any of the details, doctor-patient confidentiality and all that, I just want to know if you ever treated her."

Archie shakes his head.

"No, the name isn't familiar." He goes over to his filing cabinet and paws through it meticulously, looking at all his patient records, past and present. "No," he says eventually. "No, definitely not."

"Can you explain this, then?" Emma hands him the certification and Archie scans through the text. His mouth opens and closes a few times, and he sits down on the couch beside her.

"I did not sign this," he murmurs. "I've never seen this girl."

Archie stays pouring over the notes for a long time, reading and re-reading the tightly packed words and tracing his fingers over the signature at the bottom. He goes back to his filing cabinets and leafs through them again; Emma's heart sinks, wondering if something has triggered a long-forgotten memory. But surely, surely, one would remember a criminally insane young woman suffering delusions. If he had declared her untreatable then surely he should remember her as a matter of professional pride. Professionals do not like it when cases defeat them, and the mysterious Isabella's case certainly reads as if it has defeated the best clinical minds, including Archie's. Something that momentous is not lightly forgotten.

"No," Archie repeats. "No, I did not sign this, but I cannot explain how my name came to be at the bottom of it."

He sounds slightly fearful, and Emma jumps to reassure him.

"Archie, it's ok, I'm not accusing you of anything," she says. "I'm just trying to find out what's happening." She pauses. "Would you swear in a court that you didn't sign it?"

Archie is still and silent for a moment, then nods. Emma gives a little smile, she shouldn't have doubted that Archie's conscience would get the better of him in the end. Then she remembers who she's going up against, and she remembers that Archie has been under the mayor's thumb before. But then, she remembers that Archie has also stood up to Regina before, without any outside prompting – just his own volition.

"Who would do something like this?" Archie asks.

"Hmm." Emma's tone is non-committal. "No-one springs to mind?"

Archie sighs and hands her back the certification. "Well, I hate to speak ill of our esteemed mayor…" He gives a wan smile – he of all people knows that there is no love lost between the two women, caught in the crossfire as he is with Henry. Part of Emma wants to know what he's thinking, but the other part doesn't.

"Regina was the one to give it to me," Emma says levelly. "She believes Belle ought to be sent to the mental facility in Boston. She can't do anything till she's more stable, but…"

Archie shakes his head. "We can't let that happen; not if this is the only proof of a mental condition. It would never stand up."

There's a knock on the door and Archie tells whoever's on the other side to come in. Emma gets up to leave; there's nothing much more that she can do. She's got Archie onside, she thinks, but when she sees who enters the psychiatrist's office, she is perhaps not so sure. It's Regina, accompanying Henry to his therapy session.

"Hi Emma," Henry says brightly.

"Hey kid," Emma says, but her eyes are fixed on the other woman.

"Miss Swan." Regina smiles politely. "How is your investigation going?" She looks Archie up and down. "I must admit though, I'm not entirely sure what you hope to gain from Dr Hopper."

Emma just raises one eyebrow.

"Really."

"She was speaking to me about this," Archie says, indicating the paper in Emma's hands.

"Ah yes," Regina says. "I really don't see why, Miss Swan. It's all there in black and white."

"Oh, I don't deny that, Madam Mayor. What I was more concerned with was the person who wrote it down in black and white," Emma returns, trying to keep the vitriol out of her voice. She has to stay polite and professional. She cannot allow herself to rise to Regina's unspoken challenge, however much she wants to scream and shout at the woman. Not in front of Henry. He's always believed Emma to be the saviour, a hero, and now she has to earn that title by acting like one. So she's not fighting exactly fair, but she will not stoop to her adversary's level either.

"Are you trying to coerce Dr Hopper into breaking the doctor-patient confidentiality barrier?" Regina asks, her face a carefully erected mask of shock. Emma opens her mouth to say something although she's not sure what and stands gaping like a fish for a few moments as she tries desperately to think of a measured reply. It is Archie who saves her.

"Not at all," Archie says. "And since this paper came into her hands from someone other than myself, I should imagine that it is whoever gave it to her who is causing the doctor-patient confidentiality barrier to be broken, Ms Mills."

"Erm, should I go?" Henry asks.

"No," Regina snaps, at the same time as Emma says "yes" and Archie begins "it might be best".

"Madam Mayor," Archie continues. "Since I don't recall this patient ever being on my roster and I certainly don't recall ever signing this certification, I am sure you'll understand when I say I cannot let her be returned to a mental facility without performing a detailed psychiatric profile."

For a moment, Regina looks utterly confused; it's the same little flash of fear Emma saw in her eyes last night when they brought Belle in. Did she really believe that Emma would take her proof at face value? Did she really believe that Archie would blindly accept having signed something he hadn't just because it was, in her own words, all there in black and white?

It's clever – it's hard to prove Archie did not sign this paper. But if he himself denies it, then there's nothing that can be done.

"Ms Mills, that is my professional opinion," Archie says. Emma looks at him as he speaks. He seems to have grown an inch or so as he stands up to the mayor; and she wonders. "Any other ethical psychiatrist would give the same."

Archie is holding his own in his own domain, and Emma smiles. There is a powerplay going on wholly without words here, and Archie is winning. He is telling Regina that he knows this paper is faked, and he is going to call her out on it. Neither of them have openly accused her yet – they wouldn't do it in front of Henry - but the inference is there. And what can Regina do about it?

"Well." Regina presses her lips together in a thin line, the expression she wears when she knows she's being beaten and she'll have to fall back on a backup plan. "I bow to your expert judgment in this matter, of course, Dr Hopper."

"Thank you." Archie smiles. "I don't think there's anything else that needs to be said, Emma?"

Emma shakes her head, and Regina turns to leave.

"I would be interested to know who you got this declaration from, though," Archie says conversationally as she leaves.

Regina tenses with her hand on the door handle, but she doesn't respond and simply closes it with some vehemence behind her.

Emma can't help but exchange a small smile with Archie. She waits for Regina to get out of the building and to a safe distance before she too makes to leave and go back to the station.

"Thanks," she says to Archie.

"My pleasure," the psychiatrist says. "If there's anything else…"

"I'll let you know."

Nearly there, she thinks as she leaves, promising Henry she'll see him soon. Nearly there…

X

Emma looks down at the fingerprint analysis results. They've got her. They've got Regina. Even now, hours after they came out of the computer, she still can't quite bring herself to believe it.

It's gone midnight and she is dead on her feet, but she's finally done. There on the table in front of her, is a long list of proof that Regina has most definitely been abusing her position as mayor. She's just spent a good couple of hours collating everything and breaking it down, going through it with a fine-toothed comb to make sure that everything stands up. She still has a couple of wild cards that she can't control, but now she has good, solid proof. Archie has sworn to testify against her. . She still has a couple of wild cards that she can't control – she really isn't sure what to make of Jefferson, whose fingerprints she also found, but he seems happy enough to get his own back on Regina for breaking whatever twisted bargain they had and keep his own backside out of jail for his part in the crimes. (Because if Paige, or Grace, or whatever her name is, really is his daughter, he'll never get her back if he's inside. Emma shakes her head at the memory of talking to him in his lavish home on the discovery of the fingerprints. Forget Isabella Avonlea, Jefferson Milliner is the certifiable one, in Emma's eyes; but if he is willing to testify against the mayor, then she's not going to complain.) Adding it to Kathryn's testimony about her imprisonment, it's a good enough case, and she has a warrant that she will act on in the morning.

Emma pillows her head on her arms and tries to get comfortable enough to sleep like that. She doesn't want Regina's skeleton keys making an appearance in the middle of the night and her evidence suddenly disappearing in a mysterious accident. As tired as she is, though, Emma can't sleep. In the middle of it all, she has the sudden thought of Henry. What will he make of all this, of his birth mother arresting his adoptive one? She's been warned and warned again, that the fight between her and Regina would only end up hurting Henry.

Emma takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. The warnings ring true, but this is about more than just a custody battle. This is about more than just Regina and Emma's fight over Henry. This is about Kathryn, who never did any wrong to anyone, getting caught up in the crossfire in a battle between Regina and Mary Margaret that the latter isn't even actively fighting. This is about Belle and Gold, and the force that has kept them apart for so long (and, Emma thinks as she remembers the myriad tubes and wires snaking in and out of the girl, might yet force them apart forever). This is about the way Mayor Mills runs her town; because if she can get away with this then what else can she get away with? It's about _everyone_, and that's why it's so important that Emma follows through, that she does what she knows to be right. Like Graham said when he first gave her the deputy's badge – she's a part of this town now, and she has to show it. In the short time that she has been here, these people have become more like a family to her than she has ever known. (A very odd family, admittedly, with several strange uncles and second-cousins-twice-removed…)

It's like she thought earlier. Storybrooke was a sleepy town until she drove in, bringing with her a wind of change. No-one would have thought to stand up to Regina until she showed up, she's fairly sure of that, and that is why Regina has been so confident in her ill-thought-out plans to cover up her misdeeds. But now she has Archie following his conscience, she has Leroy and Walter roused out of their apathy by seeing what has been under their eyes all the time. The residents didn't know what was wrong before she started pointing things out to them, and once she started pointing these things out, they began to, however unconsciously, take a stand against Regina. She's galvanised them, woken them out of however many years of apathy.

And she doesn't intend to stop now.

X

The next morning, Emma holds her head high as she walks up the path towards Regina's front door and knocks briskly.

She feels a little surge of triumph as fear flickers in Regina's eyes before her calm façade is hastily erected. But the expression is not the nasty little smile of one-upmanship that Emma has come to expect. It's more a mask of grave acceptance. There's nothing left in her arsenal. She has tried everything to put Emma off track, but she's come up empty-handed.

"I thought you'd come," she says quietly. She pauses, and Emma can see that she's finally admitting defeat. It's the same kind of expression that she wore in the hospital that first night, when Archie confronted her quietly yesterday. When she realised that things beyond her control were happening and her carefully ordered plans were shattering down around her. "I… I sent Henry out to play in the castle in the woods. I didn't want him to see it."

Emma nods; she understands. She remembers how mortified she was when Henry found out she'd had him in jail. As much as she doesn't like it, Regina did love and care for her son as her own for ten years and although he has made his feelings towards her quite clear, his perception of her still matters to Regina, and to see her escorted from her own home in handcuffs would be too much.

"Regina Mills," Emma begins, "you are under arrest on suspicion of kidnap, false imprisonment, and forgery." She reads off her rights, and Regina steps out of her front door, closing it quietly behind her. Emma cuffs her and leads her back down the path to the cruiser. She doesn't speak any more, and Emma wonders if she'll refuse to talk until she gets a lawyer. She wonders if there _are_ any lawyers in the town other than the DA, who's automatically on the prosecuting side, and Gold, who would never agree to represent Regina after the tumultuous events of the last few days. Things could get quite tricky in that case.

But now, Emma doesn't care. She's seen the truth in Regina's face, in her fear and confusion. She knows that her evidence is strong enough and Regina has no immediate backup plan. She glances in the rear-view at the other woman, and although she doubts she'll get an answer, she has to ask the question that has been burning in her mind ever since she first came to Storybrooke, first saw how things weren't right here.

"Why did you do it?"

There's silence for a long time, which Emma did expect, to the extent where she's actually surprised when Regina responds, gazing out of the window at her town.

"I just wanted to win."

Emma looks ahead, towards the station, and just processes the words in her head. For a sleepy town in Maine, the social politics are amazingly and acutely complex. There is so much more here than meets the eye, and despite herself, Emma finds herself thinking of looking to Henry's book for an explanation.

She pushes the thought aside, and focuses on the immediate present. They've got her. Regina has lost.

* * *

**Just an epilogue to come now. After all, Belle's still in a coma, and Gold's threat to Regina still stands... Hopefully there won't be a three month wait this time... **


	5. Chapter 5

**On The Nature of Lady Justice**

"_If justice takes place there may be hope." – Alberto Manguel_

**Epilogue**

After Regina's arrest and subsequent incarceration, life begins to return to normal in Storybrooke. Mary Margaret returns to teaching, Emma returns to her day to day duties as sheriff; the only thing that is very different to before is the fact that they now have Henry staying with them too. Gold watches the town go about its business from the window in Belle's hospital room. Life goes on around them, but here, in this room, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, time seems to stand still. He gradually begins to return to some semblance of normality himself; not that the previous status quo can ever be regained now that he knows that Belle is here, and against all the odds, alive. Now he has a second chance, one that he does not intend to waste. A week and a half after the accident, he opens his shop again, but his hours are shorter than they were before, and he still spends the majority of his time with Belle at the hospital, waiting for her to open her beautiful blue eyes again.

She is out of danger now, the doctors say. She is stabilising well; she began breathing on her own a few days after the accident, and she has since been moved out of the ICU, into the very room that Charming occupied during his long slumber here in the hospital. She is improving; he is constantly reassured of that.

But still she does not wake. This is a curse that even True Love's Kiss can't break, although knowing this doesn't stop him pressing his lips to her forehead every time he leaves her. This is medicine, not magic. True Love's Kiss will not wake her; she must wait until her body is physically ready to be awake.

Whale assures him that there is no reason why she should not wake up with time. Her brain function is healthy and normal, and her injuries are healing well. Gold wonders how long it will be, and if, when she does wake, she will remember him.

He thinks back to David Nolan's awakening, to the memories he almost regained, and he has an idea. Sadly, this idea means asking for help, and he is already in debt to Miss Blanchard as it is. Still, Gold thinks as he swallows his pride and knocks on her apartment door, if it brings Belle back, so be it. There will be time enough to wipe the slate clean and iron out what's owed once his beloved is safe and well.

Mary Margaret answers the door, and her surprise at seeing her landlord outside is plain to see in her face.

"Mr Gold, I wasn't expecting you. Are you here…"

"I'm not here for the rent," Gold interrupts, pre-empting her first question. "I've come to ask… a favour."

The young woman's eyebrows shoot to her hairline momentarily, but she recovers herself quickly and steps back to allow him inside.

"Of course. Come in. What can I do for you?"

Gold steps over the threshold and Mary Margaret shuts the door behind him. He doesn't like the door being shut; his escape route is blocked. Having spent so many years being fiercely independent and self-sufficient, he is not at all comfortable asking others for assistance, and the old desire to bolt is strong. Gold squashes it down. Mary Margaret waves her hand vaguely in the direction of the kitchen table, offering him a seat, but he remains standing. It feels easier this way, more like a business transaction taking place within defined parameters than something altogether more indistinct.

"Miss Blanchard," he begins, "as you know, Belle is in a coma. I know that you used to read to Mr Nolan when he was in his coma, you read Henry's book, and it helped him to wake up and remember. I was wondering…"

He breaks off.

"You'd like me to try reading to Belle to see if it helps her?" Mary Margaret finishes for him. Gold nods. The schoolteacher says nothing for a while, but then she lifts her chin and takes a bold step forward.

"Mr Gold," she says, and she's going to refuse, Gold can tell… "Mr Gold, I think it is very obvious that you care deeply for this young woman, and if anyone's voice is going to bring her round, it will be yours."

Gold blinks a few times as he tries to process what she's just said, and then he sighs and shakes his head.

"I talk to her all the time," he mutters. It's true, he's told her many a tale as he sits by her bedside, watching out for the slightest change. He's catalogued his life for her, telling her everything he did after she left – after he made her go, he corrects himself, however much it twists his heart to think it. So often he trails off as he realises all he is doing is listing his misdeeds, and that she wouldn't want to hear of the despicable things he has done without her guiding influence, but he forces himself to continue. She needs the truth from him; she deserves it.

Mary Margaret smiles, a genuine, warm smile that is honestly meant for him. "Maybe you just haven't been saying the magic words."

Oh, the irony. Gold can't help but return her smile with a minute one of his own. She won't realise the true meaning of those words until the curse is broken, but he takes them on board nonetheless.

"Henry's at the diner with Emma," Mary Margaret says. "I'll ask about the book when he gets back. I'm sure he'll be willing to lend it if it helps another star-crossed couple get their happy ending."

Gold raises an eyebrow at the notion of him and Belle being star-crossed, but Mary Margaret doesn't seem to be paying attention. Her brow is furrowed in thought. "He's never given you an alternate identity," she muses. "If David and I are Charming and Snow White and Regina's the Queen, who does that make you?"

"It's probably best if we don't know," Gold says hastily. Whilst Regina might be the first to feel the town's wrath when they waken from this curse, he knows that his original persona will not be far behind on their hit-list. Mary Margaret laughs, so innocent and unknowing, and so prepared to help him.

"Thank you, Miss Blanchard," he says eventually. "I'll be at the hospital."

X

Henry knocks on the door of Belle's hospital room – the hospital have finally relented and the name on her notes and admittance wristband now reads 'Belle Doe' as opposed to the Jane that she remained in the first few days.

Mr Gold doesn't turn – he seems to be asleep himself – so Henry lets himself into the room unbidden.

"Mr Gold?" he says, then a little louder. "Mr Gold?"

The pawnbroker startles out of his slumber and his cane clatters to the floor from where it has been hooked over his knee. Outside in the main ward, a nurse gives them a disapproving look on hearing the commotion, but none of the other patients seem to mind. For all Henry knows, a loud noise might be just what it takes to bring Belle round.

He can't figure out who Belle is, really. Her name indicates that really, she should be Belle of Avonlea, one half of Beauty and the Beast. But then, of all the fairytale characters, only Regina kept her original name when she came through into this world, which would mean that Belle couldn't be Belle. Could she? If her name was actually Isabella, like Regina said it was, that could make sense, and in the back of his mind, Henry remembers Emma mentioning something about Isabella Avonlea in passing. Weighing up the evidence, she's likely to be the same Belle.

As an alternative, Henry's keeping Princess Aurora as his second choice. After all, Belle means beauty, and she is most definitely sleeping at the moment. But then, that would likely make Mr Gold Prince Philip, and somehow, Henry thinks, that's not too likely.

Mind you, if Belle is Belle, that makes Mr Gold Rumpelstiltskin, which is only marginally more plausible.

Henry thinks for a moment as he crosses the room, holding out the book to the older man. Maybe it's not so implausible after all. Rumpelstiltskin is famous for spinning straw into gold, and his deals in the fairy tales equate to his contracts in Storybrooke.

"Thank you, Henry."

He rests the book on his lap but shows no signs of opening it.

"Miss Blanchard read the story of Snow White and Prince Charming to Mr Nolan," Henry points out helpfully. "Maybe a different one could help Belle."

Mr Gold nods. "I think I know which one I need."

Henry waits expectantly, but the pawnbroker clearly isn't going to divulge any further information.

"Well, good luck." He decides it's best to end on an optimistic note. "If it worked for Snow White and her prince, I'm sure it can work for you."

He leaves the room but pauses outside the door for a moment, listening. Maybe if he can identify the story, he can identify the characters. Through the glass, he sees Mr Gold open the book and look through it, turning over the individual leaves with care until he finally stops, about halfway in. Henry presses his ear against the door.

"Belle," Mr Gold is saying, "this is our story, and I swear I will tell it to you until you wake up and remember, and let me beg for forgiveness, even though it's more than I deserve."

There's silence for a long while and Henry has to glance up at the clock on the wall in the main ward; if Mr Gold doesn't start reading soon he's going to have to give it up as a bad job and go home or Emma and Mary Margaret will be sending out a search party.

Mr Gold runs his fingers over the illustration and finally begins to read.

"_Sir Maurice was worried. A war was coming, an ogre war, and he knew that his small town could not hope to weather such a storm. It seemed that every day, more news came from the battlefields that strongholds far greater than his own had fallen to the marauding hordes of ogres. He had had to call for assistance from the only person who could guarantee his townsfolk's safety. He had called for Rumpelstiltskin._"

Henry's read the book enough times to know which story Mr Gold is reading, and his initial suspicions are confirmed. He can't help but grin. It's the tale of Beauty and the Beast, meaning that Belle is really Belle, and Mr Gold is really Rumpelstiltskin. He listens again as the tale continues to unfurl.

""_Well, that was a bit of a let down." Sir Maurice, Sir Gaston, Belle and the advisors turned to see Rumpelstiltskin himself sitting in the lord's own chair. Sir Gaston immediately drew his sword, but the imp seemed unperturbed. "I got your message. Something about 'Help, help, we're dying, can you save us?' And the answer," he continued, batting away the long sword pointed at his throat as if it were mere paper, "is yes. For a price.""_

"Henry!"

Henry looks up to find Emma standing behind him, her arms folded.

"I was just…" Henry begins in his defence.

"I know what you were just." She tilts her head towards the exit. "Come on, let's give Mr Gold and Miss Doe some privacy."

Henry complies with good grace and follows Emma out of the hospital. Two more identities down, an entire town-full left to go…

X

Gold had paused in his reading when he heard Emma's voice and realised that Henry was eavesdropping. As intelligent as the boy is in figuring out the curse and their various identities, Gold doesn't want to add fuel to the fire just yet. Emma is still not in a position to believe properly, although she is well on her way.

"They've gone now," he tells Belle, glancing over his shoulder and seeing mother and son disappear round the corner. "Just us again. Now, where were we? Ah yes. _"And the answer," he continued, batting away the long sword pointed at his throat as if it were mere paper…_ You know, my dear, I never really understood the obsession with swords. I mean, no-one likes a sword stuck up their nose now, do they?"

He knows he's imagining it, but he likes to think that the corner of Belle's mouth twitches into a momentary smile at the comment, and he continues to read.

They settle into a sort of routine after that. Gold will spend the morning and early afternoon at his shop before going to the hospital to sit with Belle, and Henry brings his book over after school. Gold reads to Belle every day, sometimes their story, sometimes another, just to add a bit of variety. Sometimes he forgoes the fairy tales and tries something wholly from this world; he thinks she'd enjoy the other fantasies here, Tolkien and Eddings and others. After all, Belle did always love her books, her stories. When visiting time is over in the early evening, he returns the fairy tale book to its owner and goes home, and the entire cycle begins next day.

He likes the pattern, the routine brings comfort, but at the same time, as long as there is this routine, there is no change; Belle remains deep in her sleep. The town continues to grow and live around them, but there, in that hospital room for a few hours each day, Gold forgets the existence of the rest of them, forgets their plights and petty troubles. It's just him and Belle. Sometimes he doesn't talk to her save to read; sometimes it's been a slow day and nothing much has happened, and it is on those days that he just sits with her, holding her hand, stroking her fingers, pressing the odd careful kiss to her palm, avoiding the wires in her wrist. He's desperate for her to wake up.

Six weeks after her accident, Gold is still reading to Belle.

"_Belle sat on the table, swinging her legs a little. "I think you were lonely," she said. "I mean, any man would be lonely." _I was Belle, I was rattling around in that castle, but that's not the real reason… Gold is not precious, never will be again. I didn't want your father's gold. I wanted something more valuable, and when I first saw you, well, I knew from that moment that you were utterly priceless…"

Gold breaks off, scans Belle's face for signs of response, and looks down at the limp hand in his. She's never moved in all the time he has sat with her; she's always been as still as a doll. But he could have sworn that he just felt her fingers twitch…

X

It's unusual for Gold not to drop Henry's book back in the evenings after he's borrowed it, unusual enough for Emma to be perturbed. A small part of her wonders, with not a little hope, if his delay is due to Belle finally awakening. She's certain that the hospital would let her know of such a momentous occasion, but then again, she is no longer Belle's emergency contact – that right has passed to Gold.

Emma wonders at the events of the past month and a half as she crosses over the road towards the hospital to investigate. Regina is locked in her own foreboding prison beneath the hospital – Emma is not comfortable having her in such close proximity but she could not stay in the Sheriff's station indefinitely and the nearest county jail is over capacity and won't take her. On learning this, Henry had just given her a knowing look, and Emma is beginning to believe his and Gold's words – that no-one is ever going to successfully leave this town.

The campaign to elect a new mayor is well underway; the three front-runners are the DA Spencer, Kathryn Nolan's father (King Midas, according to Henry), and, surprisingly enough, Granny. Personally Emma thinks Granny would make an excellent mayor; she seems to have more sense than most of the rest of the town put together.

And then there's Gold. He's changed and yet he's still exactly the same; still collecting his rent with the same quiet menace. The subtle air of power that he's always carried with him is still there, unwavering, but there is something else in his eyes now. He has received what so few do – a second chance when all hope was thought lost, and as long as Belle remains in her precarious state of limbo, sleeping her deep, deep sleep, he will never be able to fully realise this opportunity, use this second chance to the full. He is helping her gain legal custody of Henry, annulling Regina's adoption of him. Emma was quite willing to pay him, but he refused her money, telling her that winning against Regina was payment enough, and they're square now. She's never understood his view of life as a system of checks and balances, how he works out the monetary value of words and actions and weighs them against each other, but in the end she'll leave him to it. Emma is happy in her lot. She has Henry, and whilst she's still making parenting mistakes, she has the willing help of everyone in the town, giving her assistance and advice wherever she needs it.

It's been a little hard, making the transition, because up until his coming to live with them, her and Henry's relationship had been a strange one, more friends than mother and son, and it's easier for both of them to take liberties, and harder for her to set defined parental boundaries like bedtimes. Sometimes she feels she isn't ready for this and she should have had a bit more preparation, maybe taken a few crash courses before becoming a full-time parent, but circumstances are such that she is having to learn on the job. Emma smiles, she knows that she really wouldn't have it any other way.

Life, Emma reflects, is good.

She's a little surprised to find Gold still reading when she reaches Belle's room; she'd expected to find him dozed off. She gives a soft knock on the glass and enters. The scene is so sweet that she doesn't want to interrupt, and she stays listening to the pawnbroker narrate from the storybook. She's familiar with it enough through Henry and Mary Margaret to know that they are nearing the end of Snow White's tale – Prince James is fighting Rumpelstiltskin in the infinite forest, soon to hide the True Love potion in Maleficent.

"_What do you know of true love?" James said. _

"_Not so much as you perhaps, but not so little as you might think."_

Emma smiles, she can see why Henry eavesdrops on Gold's reading so much. He reads more like Mary Margaret does, with all the nuances of emphasis and intonation. On speaking Rumpelstiltskin's lines, his voice is queer and high-pitched, so far from the soft brogue she's used to hearing and so very befitting for the strange magician she's heard Henry describe. Her son is convinced of Gold and Belle's other identities now, and listening to Gold now, she can see why.

"_You loved someone?" James asked the imp, his incredulity clear in his voice. Rumpelstiltskin's voice was hard and sad as he replied._

"_It was a brief flicker of light amidst an ocean of darkness."_

Emma gasps involuntarily. Practically the same words he said all those weeks ago, describing Belle as a brief flicker of light. Has Gold been reading Henry's book before, or is there something else at work here?

He breaks off on hearing her little intake of breath, and turns. He looks older today, wearied.

"Miss Swan."

"It's nearly end of visiting hours," Emma offers by way of explanation, her head still reeling slightly.

Gold nods. "I know. I just…" He gives a long sigh, squeezing Belle's fingers. "Her fingers moved. A couple of times today, and she's never moved before. I thought that if I kept going, maybe…" He shakes his head. "Ah well. It was a long shot."

He closes the book carefully and stands, his motions slow as he stretches out his bad leg and gets his balance back. He presses a kiss to Belle's pale cheek and whispers something that Emma doesn't catch but knows to be 'love you'. Gold comes towards the door. His eyes are fixed on the middle distance – he doesn't look back. Emma knows why he does it; he doesn't want the last glimpse he sees of Belle each evening to be her looking so fragile and so far away from him. Emma makes to step back and let him out of the room in front of her, tucking Henry's book in under her jacket, but as she does so, something catches her eye over Gold's shoulder.

"Gold," she says, grabbing his lapel to prevent him pushing past her out of the room. "Look."

Behind him, Emma can see Belle's face. She can see that her eyes are still closed and her position has not changed, but there are tear tracks running down her face from beneath her lids.

Belle is crying in her sleep.

"What?" Gold asks, his voice tired and flat from false hope.

"Just… look," Emma says, unwilling and unable to describe it properly.

Gold turns and glances over his shoulder, and his breath catches. Emma remains in the doorway as he makes his way back over to the bed, reaching it with just enough time to brush away the moisture on Belle's cheeks.

Her eyes flutter open. There is a moment of tense silence as she stares at Gold, and he stares back at her, weary brown eyes locked with newly-opened blue, both pairs brimming with unshed tears.

Then Belle gives the tiniest hint of a smile.

**The End**


End file.
